


Bounty Hunters

by KheWolf



Series: Scorpius [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Danger, Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s03e12 Lunar Ellipse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:51:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1736987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KheWolf/pseuds/KheWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek shadows Stiles and Scott on vacation. Derek gets poisoned by bounty hunters, and Stiles has to help him survive, as they evade capture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bounty Hunters

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the events of Season 3A. Please let me know your thoughts. I'm thinking about making this the first installment in a short series about this mysterious villain who's placed a bounty out for a true alpha. I really want to know how well I nailed the characters, and whether it was interesting enough that people would want more.

           Stiles sipped his coke eagerly, enjoying its coolness. The afternoon sun was beating down heavily, and he welcomed any reprieve from the heat. He took a seat on a bright blue wooden stool under a cloth awning in front of the café where he had bought his drink, and relaxed. His pale legs stretched lazily out in front of him, his sandaled feet just inside the shade provided by the awning. He felt totally at ease. Stiles was on vacation, and he was enjoying himself immensely. Most of the time.

            The Mexican beach town he was in was fairly isolated, but still saw a lot of tourism. Gravel and asphalt roads crisscrossed around restaurants, clubs, and luxury hotels. Stiles was there with his dad, the Sheriff, his best friend Scott, and Scott’s mom. After a series of dangers and adventures with the supernatural world, the two families had decided to take a much-needed vacation. The sun and Stiles’ fair skin did not mix well though, and Stiles had to take frequent breaks from the beach to stay in the shade. Which was why he was sitting outside a café instead of going cliff-climbing with Scott and their parents.

            Stiles sighed a little, and checked his phone. He dismissed a “Low Battery” warning and saw that he had received a new Snapchat, from Lydia Martin. He grinned instantly. There she was, her strawberry blond hair framing her perfect green eyes. He was so absorbed he almost missed the text of the message, a simple “How’s your vacation going?”  

           Stiles instantly sent back a pouty face, sunlight reflecting off his sunglasses and leaving a lens flare. “They’ve abandoned me! :(”

           A few seconds later he received a new snap from Lydia, this time with some of her delightful sarcasm. “It must be so hard to be on vacation”.

           Stiles snapped back a face of him with his eyes rolled back in his head and his sunglass askew. “I’m dying here. Send help.”

           His answer was a 2 second video of her rolling her eyes.

           Using his toe, he spelled out her name in the gravel at his feet. He sent her the picture, but didn’t receive a response. Conversation over. He sighed a bit, and adjusted himself on his stool. There wasn’t much he could do at the moment. He’d been in town for a few days now, and he was a bit sunburned, so he was trying to avoid any activities in the sun. Which, in a beach town, was exceedingly difficult. Stiles clasped his hands together, fidgeted in his chair, and let his eyes roam down the street. Tourists and townspeople strolled about, taking in the beautiful day. At the head of the street, a group of children were playing with a soccer ball, laughing and shrieking. Distantly, one could hear seagulls.

           Suddenly Stiles sat up straight, and the sudden movement knocked his stool over. He tumbled to the ground, and scrambled onto his hands and knees quickly, looking up. He waited breathlessly, wondering if he had seen what he thought he had… _there._ Dark hair swept up, and a slightly pissed off expression, strolling through the crowds. Derek Hale. Stiles quickly flailed to his feet. Righting the stool, he sidestepped around the edge of the café, where he could observe Derek better without being seen.

           What was he doing here? After their run in with the Darach and the Alpha Pack, Derek had left town, planning to move his sister Cora out of Beacon Hills. So what was going on? The vacation was supposed to be only Scott, Stiles, and their parents. They had let all their friends know about it, but no one had heard from Derek for weeks. Could it possibly a coincidence? Stiles snorted. Where Derek was concerned, it never was.

           As Stiles watched, Derek continued down the street, moving closer to Stiles’ hiding spot. He ducked behind the wall with a gasp as Derek glanced in his direction. He waited a few seconds, panting, before peeking out again. He was just in time to see Derek disappear into a bar and restaurant across the street. Without a pause, Stiles followed. He had to check this out.

            Derek had gone in the front entrance, so Stiles checked out the back. The rear of the building butted up against a small service parking lot, shaded by a forest of green palm fronds, moving gently in the sea breeze. Just as Stiles had hoped, there was a door meant for taking out the trash, and for unloading new stock shipments. Stiles found the door unlocked, and entered quietly.

            He was standing in a dingy hallway, and he heard sounds of laughter and a TV up ahead. Trying to seem natural, he followed the corridor until it opened into a fair-sized bar, with some tables scattered around. Derek was sitting at a corner table, but he was looking out the window. Moving fast, Stiles found a seat at a table that shielded himself from Derek’s line of sight, and hurriedly erected a menu in front of himself, which he peered over the top of.

            There weren’t too many people in the bar. A group of middle aged tourists occupied some tables in the center of the room, where they were laughing loudly and eating lunch. Some locals were lounging at the bar, chatting quietly with the bartender and watching a soccer game on the TV above the bar. No one seemed to notice Stiles for the moment.

            Just as Stiles was making up his mind to approach Derek, the front door opened and another tourist couple entered, and went straight to the bar. Stiles eyed them over the top of his menu, mentally cataloguing them. A man, late thirties, Caucasian, shaven head with dark stubble, clean shaven, well-muscled, possible 6’-6’2”. His partner was a woman, late twenties to early thirties, darker skin-probably Hispanic, black hair tied back in a short pony tail, serious face, athletic build, probably 5’7”. They carried themselves with the kind of confidence Stiles had come to associate with those who’ve been trained in combat. He was reminded strongly of Allison Argent’s father. It was just a feeling, but it put Stiles on edge.

            “Do you want to order?” Stiles jumped a little in his chair. A waiter stood next to his elbow, a writing pad ready. Stiles ordered a bottle of water to ensure he wouldn’t be asked to leave. By the time he looked back at the bar, the strange couple was moving towards the exit. Well that was a short visit. Stiles carefully half-raised himself from his seat to check on Derek. Still looking out the window, drinking a beer.

            Once more, Stiles was surprised in his spying by the waiter, returning with his water bottle. Politely thanking and shooing the pesky man away, Stiles went back to Derek-watching. Something was wrong though. Derek wasn’t drinking anymore, or watching the outside. His head was leaning back against the wall, and he seemed pale. As Stiles watched, he started slapping his pockets, finally wrenching out a handful of coins and leaving them on the table before standing up unsteadily. Someone asked him if he needed help but he waved them off before stumbling towards the door. Stiles quickly left some coins of his own, grabbed his water, and set off after Derek.

            Stepping outside hurriedly, he paused, blinking quickly in the brighter light. The sun was starting to set, leaving longer shadows and sharper contrasts as it sank towards the horizon. Spinning around, Stiles saw Derek leaning heavily on the wall of a nearby building.

            He jogged quickly over, his sandals slapping against gravel. “Derek!” he called out.

            Derek’s head turned slightly towards him, and Stiles saw he was now sweating profusely. “Stiles.” There was no surprise in his voice. In fact, he seemed almost relieved. “Help me.” His words came out in a husky rasp.

            “What are you doing here? What’s wrong with you?”

            “Something in my drink. There was a couple. Bribed the bartender. I need to vomit.” Derek spoke in short, clipped sentences. He looked about to collapse.

            “What, are you sure?” Stiles ran his fingers nervously through his hair.

            “Yes, I’m sure, you idiot.” Derek snarled. “Now get me out of here.”

            Stiles sighed and let his water bottle drop to the ground. Bracing himself, he pulled Derek’s arm over his shoulders.  Derek immediately slumped heavily against him, almost causing Stiles to collapse. Stiles grunted, and with a swear, managed to steady himself. “Derek, you need to move.” He urged. “We need to get you out of sight. I can’t do this alone.” They stumbled towards the palm forest behind the buildings. Stiles tried to look over his shoulder for the couple from the bar, but he couldn’t see past Derek’s arm, which was now dripping sweat. Dark sweat. Black sweat. Stiles looked at Derek’s face, and was horrified to see black sweat streaking the strong cheekbones.

            “Oh my God.” Stiles moaned. “Jesus Christ Derek, that’s disgusting.”

            “Shut. Up. And move.” Derek grunted the words out between each step.

            They reached the shelter of the trees, and moved until the houses were obscured from sight before Derek collapsed completely.

            “Derek! Derek, get up!” Stiles knelt by Derek, helping him push himself to hands and knees.

            “I need…to puke it…out…” Derek muttered, his eyes flickering. His black beard stood out sharply on skin that looked frighteningly skull-like. Stiles gulped at the sight, but was devoutly grateful there was something he could do to help. They had done first aid training in gym class, part of which included the Heimlich maneuver. Stiles awkwardly stood over Derek, and reached around his middle. Keeping his left hand in a fist, he used his right hand to sharply thrust it in and upwards against Derek’s tight abdomen. Derek coughed violently, and then made a terrible choking noise. Stiles winced at the hideous noise, but kept thrusting his fist. There was a horrible gargling noise, and then Derek was puking for all he was worth.

            “Oh God that looks like death.” Stiles blurted out, releasing his grip and stepping back quickly. Derek was retching a thick black liquid, viscous and steaming. “That looks like toxic waste. Why do I always have to deal with your weird body issues?” Stiles held his palm to his face and paced behind Derek, who was still on hands and knees, shuddering.

            After breathing heavily for a few minutes, Derek pushed himself to a kneeling position. The sweating had stopped, but black streaks were drying on his face. His eyes had a distant look in them and his mouth hung slack, sucking in air. Splatters of black goo stained his clothes. Stiles had rarely seen him look this bad, including the time he had seen Derek impaled.

            “I need… your help.” Derek managed to rasp out between gulps of air. “I need to heal. But those people… they’ll be after me.”

            Stiles rolled his eyes to the sky. “Why me?” He muttered, not really expecting an answer. He knelt and threw Derek’s arm around his shoulder once more. He grunted as Derek leaned on him and stood up. “This is gross.” He complained, feeling some of the black vomit soak through from Derek’s clothes onto his. “I’m going to have to throw this out now.”

            “Stop talking.” Derek muttered, but without his usual energy. “Just move. Get me away from here. Someone might have heard us.” They stumbled further into the forest, their long shadows stretching out in front of them.

            “Excuse me, heard us? Heard you. You must have meant you. Because there was only one person hacking up their guts back there and I know it sure as hell wasn’t me.” Stiles let his sarcasm run without filter. “What are you doing here anyway? Who put something in your drink? _What_ did they put in your drink? Who are they?”

            “I don’t know.” Derek whispered between each shuddering step. “I think it might have been wolfsbane.”

            Stiles stopped short and Derek almost collapsed at the sudden change in speed. “Wolfsbane? Are you sure?”

            “I don’t see what else it could have been.” Derek snapped.

            Stiles’ tone of voice changed from concerned to irritated. “Okay the sarcasm really isn’t helping here, you know. You’re the one who’s running around getting poisoned. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been stalking Scott and I in the first place.” They started moving again. The sun seemed to have set behind them, and Stiles was having trouble seeing a path to tread through the undergrowth. He was worried they’d step on a hidden root and go tumbling.

            “I came to warn Scott.” Derek said wearily. He seemed completely drained now. “Someone’s put a bounty out for a true alpha. I think those people were bounty hunters.”

            “Great.” Stiles snorted. “Of course there’s werewolf bounty hunters. First there’s werewolf hunters, then there’s your deranged homicidal uncle, your pyro ex-girlfriend, the kanima that _you_ created by the way, thank you very much, and oh wait, did I mention your _other_ ex-girlfriend, who had a thing for human sacrifice? You’re really batting a thousand Derek. Why can’t you ever have normal problems?” Stiles ranted, but his mind was churning. Night had fallen, and Derek was still limping along only with great difficulty. He needed rest, and they were possibly being hunted by bounty hunters who didn’t seem to care if their prey was alive or dead. Stiles chewed his lip as they doggedly pressed on.

            Without warning, Stiles stepped into a sudden dip in the ground, missing his footing in the dark. Down they both went, landing hard on uneven ground. Stiles sat up gingerly, rubbing his ankle. Everything seemed fine, fortunately. He looked over at Derek, who lay sprawled motionless next to him. He couldn’t go any further. Stiles moved to his side, and carefully rolled him over. A small noise, almost like a suppressed whine, escaped Derek’s mouth. His eyes were shut tightly. Stiles pressed his lips together worriedly.

            “You need to heal. Why aren’t you healing?”

            “Give it time.” Derek grimaced. “I need rest. Just some rest.”

            Stiles didn’t quite believe him, but didn’t see any need to argue the point. “Here, let’s get you more comfortable then.” Stiles reached under Derek’s armpits and dragged him to a nearby tree. Derek’s head lolled limply to the side as Stiles leaned him into a sitting position against the tree’s trunk. Stiles shook Derek’s shoulder gently until Derek’s eyes flickered open. “Derek. Derek, I need you to wake up.” Derek nodded weakly, and fixed his hazel-green eyes on Stiles’. “I’m going to try and find a place to hide you until you heal.” Stiles spoke calmly and gently, like he had seen Scott’s mom do with victims of shock.  “I’m going to leave you here for a little bit, but I’ll be back. Trust me.” Derek nodded, and let himself slump to the side again without saying a word.

            Stiles stood up and looked around. It was dark, and he couldn’t see very far in any direction. He ran his fingers through his hair worriedly. He had checked his phone earlier only to find that it had died sometime during their frantic flight. Scott and their parents would be back at their hotel right now, probably worried sick. Stiles wondered if Scott would go out looking for him. He felt a cold weight in his heart at the thought. Scott could easily wander into a trap, if these bounty hunters were really after him. Not to mention Derek. Stiles kneeled again and stared at Derek carefully. Derek’s hair was matted down on his head from sweat, and his face was streaked with dirt and dried black residue. His breathing didn’t sound good, but at least it was deeper and more regular than before. Stiles rocked back on his heels and blew out a blustery breath. He hoped Derek would be ok soon.

            Standing, he began moving through the forest, looking for anything that might provide a safe hiding spot. Behind him, he left a trail of overturned leaves, their undersides a bright green that contrasted with the darkness, so he could find his way back to Derek. It was slow going.  The undergrowth was dense, and the darkness daunted Stiles. He could hear the wind rustling the leaves at the top of the trees, and there were occasional bird calls and the small rustlings of nocturnal animals. At each noise, Stiles found himself pausing for a moment, wondering if he was about to find himself face to face with the couple from the bar. He felt a little sick at the thought.

            It seemed like he had been walking for hours. He had his head down, and was forcing his way through yet another thick patch of foliage when his head connected with something solid with a _thump_. He fell backwards on his rear, arms windmilling wildly. Looking up, he saw that he had run into the remains of an old wooden fence. The wood was dark and stained with age, and the forest grew right up to the edge of it, which explained while Stiles had had to walk into it to find it. He scrambled to his feet excitedly, all weariness forgotten. He explored the fence with his hands as much as his eyes in the dark of the night. He found a section where the fence had fallen in, and stepped into some sort of compound.

            He was looking at the remains of a house, surrounded by what once might have been a large yard. The roof of the house had long since caved in, but several of the walls were still standing, thrusting ominously into the sky. The yard had a thick fringe of bushes and ferns, but there were only a few trees growing inside the yard. Squinting, Stiles could make out a dark line at the edge of sight, which he guessed to be the fence, ringing the old property. All was still, save for the tossing of the trees in the wind.

            Stiles stayed where he was for a long moment. Nothing moved but the plants in the wind. Taking a deep breath, he entered the compound, skirting to the right along the edges of the fence. The house must once have been a small villa, but it was a complete wreck now. It had been claimed by nature, and would provide no shelter. Stiles continued around the perimeter of the fence. Parts had fallen in, and others had become so overgrown it was nearly impossible to tell that anything manmade had ever existed there.

            A dark shape loomed suddenly out of the shadows to Stiles’ left. He froze, and dropped into a crouch. His new low-vantage point allowed him to see a silhouette of an old shed against the night sky, where stars and a crescent moon shone. His heart sped up a bit. He approached the shed eagerly and entered.  Half of the roof had fallen in, and the floor was dirty and strewn with pebbles and splintered wood. It was small and dirty, but at least had a roof. Sort of. Stiles pumped his fist in the air and mouthed a victorious, “Yes!”

            Moving fast, he retraced his steps to where he had left Derek. He almost missed him in the dark. Derek was absolutely still, lying exactly as Stiles had left him. Stiles knelt and shook Derek’s shoulders gently.

            “Hey! Derek! I’m back.” No response. Stiles snapped his fingers in front of Derek’s face. “Yo! Derek.” Still nothing. “Derek?” Fear crept into Stiles’ voice. Derek’s face was ashen, and he was barely breathing. “Shit.” Stiles breathed.

            What was he supposed to do? Derek should be better, not worse. “Okay, think Stiles, think.” He said to himself, standing and pacing. “Poisoned by wolfsbane, right? He vomits it up. He gets better, then he gets worse. Why would he get worse?” Stiles stopped pacing suddenly. “Unless… he never got better. Unless he didn’t get all the wolfsbane out.” Stiles mentally reproved himself. If he had been a little less squeamish, maybe he’d have pumped Derek’s stomach more, maybe this wouldn’t be happening now…

            Guilt and fear gnawed at him as Stiles pulled Derek’s limp form away from the tree trunk. Kicking aside leaves and sticks, he laid him flat on his back on the ground.

            “Okay, Derek, last chance. If you’re faking this, you’d better stop me now, because you’re gonna kill me for this.” Derek’s silence confirmed Stiles’ fears. “Okay. Oh God.” Stiles made an aggrieved face, looking around for anything that might inspire him to a better course of action. Nothing. He resigned himself to what needed to be done. “Okay, Stiles. Let’s do this.” And with that, he stepped on Derek’s stomach.

            Derek started choking immediately, his mouth trying to suck in air, as Stiles grimly forced it out of his body. Derek’s eyes flashed open, reflecting confusion and terror in their hazel-green depths. Black liquid flecked Derek’s lips, and then he started gargling. Stiles stepped off his stomach just in time, as Derek rolled to the side and retched violently. Stiles winced and started to turn away, but then forced himself to stay close to Derek in case anything went wrong. If this didn’t end soon, he was going to be sick himself.

            Derek coughed weakly once he was done. A small puddle of black vomit was next to him. He raised his eyes to Stiles’. “What happened?”

            Stiles pounded his fists together nervously as he explained. “I uh, figured that since you weren’t getting better, and uh, seemed like you were dying actually, that you weren’t better, and so I uh, well, I, I, stepped on you to make you vomit again.” Stiles spread his hands half-apologetically, half-defensively, and took a step backwards just in case.

            Derek breathed hard, looking at Stiles for a long moment. Color seemed to be returning to his face. “That was… that was really smart.”

            Stiles couldn’t have been more surprised than if he had suddenly been hit by a semi. “Wait, what? Did you just compliment me? You just complimented me!”

            “Shut up.” Derek snapped back. “Help me up.”

            “Uh-huh. Come on big boy. It’s more serious than I thought. You must be really sick if you’re willing to bestow a compliment on someone.” Stiles said lightly, once again slinging Derek’s muscled arm over his shoulders. In spite of their situation, Stiles was grinning idiotically. Derek raised his eyebrows at him but let it pass. He must be _really_ under the weather.

            Stiles started moving Derek along the path of overturned leaves. Derek was able to support himself better than before, but he still needed Stiles’ help. They’d been walking for a few minutes in silence when Derek asked, “Where are we going?”

            Stiles realized he had never told Derek. Which meant Derek trusted him enough to follow him without knowing where. Not that he had much of a choice, but still, Stiles was touched. “I found this old shed by an abandoned house. It’s sheltered enough that we can hide there until you’re fixed up.” Derek nodded, and Stiles felt the motion against his shoulder.

            They reached the compound without incident, and Stiles cleared a space on the floor of the shed where they could sit. He lowered Derek to the floor, then flopped down next to him. Derek leaned his head back against the rough wooden wall, his eyes closed. His breathing seemed easier, although he still looked terrible, covered in sweat, vomit, and dirt as he was.

            Stiles licked his lips, wishing he hadn’t dropped his water bottle. He sighed deeply, and settled back against the shed wall. Derek’s eyes cracked open and he turned towards Stiles, his expressive eyebrows raised questioningly.

            “I’m just thirsty, it’s nothing.” Stiles shook his head morosely.

            Derek cocked an eyebrow at him. “You know…” He said seriously. “If you’re really up for it, there’s some vomit back there. Should still be wet.”

            Stiles stared at him open-mouthed. “Wait. Was that supposed to be a joke?” In spite of himself, he started laughing. “Were you trying to tell a joke?” Derek smiled a little and started chuckling too, his teeth flashing white in the night. “That was the worst attempt at a joke I’ve ever heard!” They both laughed absurdly, releasing pent-up tension. Stiles had never heard Derek laugh before. It sounded good.

            After a few seconds though, Derek’s hand on Stiles’ arm urged quiet. “Okay. That’s enough. They’re probably looking for us.” Derek cautioned, all seriousness once more.

            “If they didn’t hear you doing your best to die earlier, then I think we’re ok for now.” Stiles said sarcastically, but he let his voice drop into a whisper. They both settled back against the wall again. The noises of the night soon became the only thing to be heard.

            Stiles looked up at the sky through the gaping hole in the roof opposite where they were sitting. Hundreds of stars glittered, far more than he could see from his backyard back home. The sight took his breath away for a long moment. Eventually though, his fears started creeping back into his mind.

            “Derek.” He whispered.

            Derek sighed deeply. “What?” He whispered back irritably, his eyes shut.

            “What if Scott comes looking for us?” Now Derek opened his eyes. “What if he runs into those two from the bar? You know, they’ll miss me at the hotel, and my phone is dead…” Stiles felt like shit. He hadn’t even let Scott know that he had seen Derek. Scott would just know that Stiles was missing. Everything had happened too fast, and now Stiles’ best friend could be in trouble because of him.

            “Stiles, look at me.” Derek commanded in a low voice. Stiles turned towards him, making eye contact. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. Scott’s gonna be ok. And so are we.” Stiles looked down, embarrassed. Derek was right, but still. “Look, there’s nothing we can do now. Just get some sleep.” Derek ordered. “We’ll go back in the morning.”

            Stiles nodded, feeling slightly better. Beside him, Derek again leaned his head back against the wall of the shed. His breathing was regular and deep now, and listening to it, Stiles was lulled into an exhausted sleep.

            *****

            Stiles snapped awake as he was roughly lifted by his shirt front and thrown against a wall. The air whooshed out of his lungs painfully. Before he could say anything, a hand grabbed the front of his shirt and there was a gun in his face.

            “Don’t move.” A deep voice hissed. “These are wolfsbane bullets.” It was the man from the bar. Stiles, who had been flailing his arms wildly, let himself go still. His mind could only think one thought: they’d been found.

            But where was Derek? Stiles craned his neck slightly, using peripheral vision. Bright morning sunlight streamed through the hole in the shed, revealing that Stiles and the man were alone. Derek was gone. The man tapped Stiles’ temple with the gun, causing Stiles to focus only on the gun. Still pointed at him. Full of wolfsbane bullets. These people knew what they were up against. Except that they didn’t.

           “I’m not what you think I am! You-” Stiles’ protests turned into a pained cry as the man struck him across the mouth with his pistol.

           “We’ll see.” Frighteningly, the man had displayed no anger, only grinned as Stiles cried out. Inwardly, Stiles groaned. Of course he’d get captured by a sadist. He tasted a warm, metallic liquid. His mouth was bleeding.

           “See this?” The hunter yanked what looked like a silver tent spike from his belt. “Ultrasonic.” Stiles’ eyes widened. He vividly remembered Allison’s dad explaining that the Argents had once used ultrasonic emitters to corral werewolves. It wouldn’t affect Stiles at all, but what would the man do when he found out he’d caught the wrong person? Somehow, Stiles didn’t think he’d be set free with an apology. More like the opposite.

           The man clicked the sounder on the emitter, and pressed it right against Stiles’ left ear, grinning eagerly. Stiles heard a faint, high-pitched whine, but that was it. The man’s grin turned into a grimace. “You little shit.” He swore viciously, and yanked Stiles up by his shirtfront. “Where is he? The true alpha?” The man spat in Stiles’ face.

           Stiles did his best to look confused, which only enraged the man more. The bounty hunter raised his gun, and jabbed it into Stiles’ face. Or at least, he tried to. As he brought the gun up, Stiles thrust his right hand out, palm down, right in the path of the rising gun. The man’s hand continued up, but the gun was knocked from his fingers. The hunter looked down, and Stiles’ left palm shot straight up into the man’s nose. The man dropped Stiles, and clutched his nose with a howl. Stiles scrambled towards the gun, snatched it, and made his escape from the shed. The hunter would be blinded for seconds, but he’d quickly recover. Stiles had seconds to formulate a plan.

           Gunshots sounded from somewhere in the forest. Stiles’ heart pounded. _Derek_. More gunshots, sharp and quick, closer this time. Stiles needed shelter, and fast. He sprinted towards the ruin of the house, pressing himself against one of the few walls that still stood. He took deep breaths, clutching the gun like he had seen his Dad do hundreds of times. Oh God, he wished he was anywhere else.

           Stiles heard a snarl and a crash somewhere behind him. He peeked over the edge of the wall. Derek had just burst through the fence, in his werewolf form. Derek roared at something behind Stiles. Turning again, Stiles saw that the male hunter had just emerged from the shed, one hand clutching his bleeding nose, the other hand holding a long machete. Derek sprinted towards the hunter, claws out. Stiles watched, open-mouthed at Derek’s speed, as he dodged the man’s swinging blade. Pivoting on his foot, Derek kicked the man squarely in the chest, propelling him into the shed’s wall, which collapsed upon impact. The remaining roof caved in on the hunter, pinning him down.

           Stiles was about to pump his fist when gunshots rang out once more. Stiles dropped down behind the house, snatching for his gun. He’d forgotten the woman hunter. In front of him, he watched Derek duck behind the ruins of the shed, searching for shelter that wasn’t there. Stiles gripped the gun with both hands, and pointed it to his right. By the sounds of it, the bounty hunter was stalking around the side of the ruined house, firing as she came. So far as he knew, she hadn’t seen Stiles. He’d have one chance to distract her.

           Stiles waited, focused on the corner. The woman came into sight, her gun arm out and pointing towards the remains of the shed where Derek crouched. Stiles squeezed the trigger three times, letting his breath out in an explosive rush. One of the bullets hit its mark in the woman’s leg. She screamed in pain, and collapsed on herself, dropping the gun she had been firing to clutch her leg.

           “Go! Go! Go!” Stiles was screaming. Derek heard, and sprinted towards the woman, who saw him coming, and tried to crawl towards her gun. Her hand closed around it just as Derek reached her. She struggled to point it towards him, but he had her wrist in a vice, and his superhuman strength slowly forced her arm back. At last, with a cry of pain she released the gun. Derek glared at her for a moment, then roared in her face, his icy blue eyes darting fire. The huntress dropped back as Derek released her, terror on her face. By the time Stiles had run over and collected the woman’s gun, Derek had transformed back into a human.

           “Don’t try and follow us.” Derek was hissing at the woman, who flinched fearfully. Derek turned and led Stiles towards a gap in the fence, leaving the two bounty hunters incapacitated behind them.  Stiles felt proud of them. Scott would have been delighted that they hadn’t been forced to kill anyone, Derek seemed to have recovered from his poisoning. All in all, not a bad turnout.

           He followed Derek as the werewolf stalked off into the forest. He jogged to keep up with Derek’s long strides, cradling the guns in his arms as he ran. “What do we do now?” He panted.

           “We warn Scott. They saw my eyes. They know I’m not the true alpha.”

           “And they tried one of those emitters on me. They know it’s not me either.”

           “So we get Scott and get out of here. They should be slowed down for a while.” Derek grinned savagely. He eyed Stiles out of the corner of his eye. “That was lucky shooting.”

           “Hey genius. That was pure skill, not luck.” Stiles bluffed. “I saved your little werewolf ass. Which makes… how many times, in the past day alone? You were almost toast there, buddy.”

           Derek rolled his eyes. They had moved through the forest for a few minutes in silence before Derek spoke again. “Thank you.”

           Stiles couldn’t believe his ears. Derek had complimented him, and now he was thanking him? Stiles grinned. He was gonna milk this for all it was worth. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of me saving your wolfliness. Again. Could you say that a little louder? Not all of us have superstrength and hearing. Man, Derek. I don’t know how-”

            “I said thank you!” Derek yelled loudly, frightening some nearby seagulls into the air. Stiles burst out laughing.

            “Aww, I knew you cared.” Stiles teased lightly. Derek looked like he could have killed him right then and there. Stiles decided not to push his luck too much, but he couldn’t resist one last jibe. “You’ve got this really unhealthy habit of getting yourself into these situations, you know that? Maybe you’re the one who needs a vacation.”

            In spite of himself, Derek’s lips quirked into a small smile before he resumed his typical serial-killer expression. They continued on through the forest in, heading back to town to warn Scott.

           


End file.
